Touch My Stuff

I guess it starts with the Sharks I guess it gets to the Jets I guess these Bloods they can't stop bleeding The fighting started friendly enough Now everybody's making love to guns and tons of biker drugs We used to fight with our fists We used to fight over chicks and we kissed at the flicks And people got pissed and they spit from the balcony These English majors want to be some super genius novelists They end up music journalists, chicks ain't that into it We are the troubadours And these are the news reports Here we are in the holy war Getting lost in the liquor store Making love to hardwood floors Now we go into the 4/4 We did the black and the tans, into the black and the blue We did the Goats Head Soup, into the Tattoo You And the crazy fruity drinks you made The Grey Goose and the Gatorade The liquid tan and lemonade Made love to the waiting game And the Right Brigade, that's the funny thing It ain't just a money thing, it's a question of community The liberty, the ecstasy, the love, the drugs, the unity And the busts they look just like the Hey Kool-Aid commercial They're breaking down the walls and they're tipping over tables and it tastes great I hate these strychnine shakes (Looking for a closer) Clawing through the record crates (Primping like a poser) Slipping through the subway grates (And you're trying to get underground)